Beacon of Light in a Sea of Darkness
by NuitSansEtoiles
Summary: Sight is a precious gift many take for granted. However, to be truly able to see, one must see with his heart, and not with his eyes. [DHr] Full summary inside. PostHBP
1. Prologue

**A/N**: This is my new fic, and it's going to be a trial run. I will only continue if it is widely received, so it is important that you review! And again, I would like to thank Emily, my wonderful beta!

**_Title_**: Beacon of Light in a Sea of Darkness  
**_Author_**: DarkAngel323 (aka Water Goddess)  
**_Summary_**: Sight is a precious gift many take for granted. However, to be truly able to see, one must see with his heart, and not with his eyes. This is the story of man who lost everything, but gains so much more with the help from the least expected of places. It is his beacon of light in a sea of darkness.  
**_Rating_**: T

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**Prologue**

Draco Malfoy hurried from the dark, musty dungeons, his heart racing, his hands clammy, and his entire body trembling. His mind was set on one thing, and that was to flee as hastily as possible. Tonight had been too much. Too overwhelming. He could no longer take it. It went without saying that Voldemort had not been pleased with him in the slightest. He could swear there had been some kind of poison in the drink the Dark Lord had forced him to gulp down before dismissing him. He could swear there was a smug smirk on Pettigrew's face as he poured him his goblet of wine. The pain in his stomach did nothing but add to the growing evidence of his poisoning. He could feel his sight clouding.

As he burst through the wooden, double doors, he welcomed the chilly and refreshing night air. He took in this fresh air in large gulps, taking deep breaths, willing himself to calm down, and he shut the heavy doors behind him, sprinting toward the village, where he could finally Disapparate from this dreadful place. Tonight's meeting had gone worse than expected. His failure had once again reminded Voldemort of his incompetence in his Sixth year, and the numerous times after that. He had thought that he had gotten off easily by merely being at the receiving end of his Lord's Cruciatus Curse, but that was a terrible mistake. Whatever poison Voldemort had fed him ate painfully away at his insides. He stifled a groan of pain, feeling slightly disoriented, dizzy, and even nauseated. But he ran on, toward the village, where the Anti-Apparation charms no longer reached.

Soon after he Disapparated with a _crack_, he materialized in front of the gates of Malfoy Manor. The home of his childhood had never felt so ominous, its shadow looming before him, crawling menacingly toward him on the ground as if threatening to pull him into its infinite depths. He suppressed a shudder as he muttered the necessary charms to open the gates of his own home. His shaking fingers pulled off the cool metal latch of the gate, and pushed the gates open. They creakily swung open for him, allowing him to cross his familiar, well-kept front lawn toward the large doors marking the front entrance. When he finally entered his magnificent entrance hall, he let out a shaky breath, glad to be finally away from that dreadful place he had been only moments before.

Staggering, whilst cursing his weakness, he climbed up the grand staircase toward his lavish bedroom. All the hospitality, beauty, and elegance of his own Manor could not suppress the vicious monster within him; coiled, and threatening to strike when he least expects it to. He quickly undressed himself as he prepared for his cold shower to soak away his filth and maybe clear his head. He rubbed at his blurry eyes, even when he knew that the attempt to clear them was futile. It had to be the poison.

He stepped into his shower, and closed his eyes. The freezing water streamed down his smooth hair, over every feature on his face, and down his body. It was not nearly enough to fully cleanse him. He scrubbed at every part of his body until bright red patches appeared. He was oblivious to the pain. _Filth. Must get rid of this filth…_ He continued to scrub vigorously, especially at his left forearm. The ugly Mark stood vividly against his pale skin, mocking him. _No more_._ No more_. He had had it for a few years now, but he had never gotten used to it. He scrubbed at the skin there until it was raw, but the Mark did not seem to faint in the slightest. He groaned. Scratching at the mark, his nails bit into his already raw flesh, drawing blood, oozing from the four long lines deforming the skull. _But it was still there_. _No more_. _Get it off_! The blood trickled down his arm, his hand, and dripped onto the bathtub, mingling with the clear water and tainting it pink. He watched the water further wash away his blood on his forearm. He watched the pink swirl down the drain. But it _still wasn't enough_. The Dark Mark was more vivid than ever on his forearm. Knowing that he was fighting a hopeless, losing battle, Draco turned off the tap, and stepped out of the shower.

With quick charms muttered under his breath, he stopped the bleeding on his forearm, but he still felt as tainted as ever. The things that the Dark Lord made him do tonight… He refused to think about it any longer, feeling as if he was already on the brink of insanity.

He changed his clothes, and approached the bed. His abdominal pain intensified. It was excruciatingly sharp, as if something were gnawing at his insides. His eyesight was not better at all. He felt strangely drunk even though he had only consumed one goblet of wine that night. His self-inflicted injury on his Marked forearm still stung, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. He slipped between his cold sheets, hoping that tomorrow would bring him more luck and better health. Before he closed his eyes, he could see the clock on his wall faintly glowed that it was a quarter to one. The last thought before he finally drifted off to a restless sleep was that he would have to fix the Luminescence Charm on his clock soon. It was getting strangely faint and unclear…

When Draco Malfoy woke up the next morning, all he could see was a darkness that stretched out indefinitely…

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**A/N:** Remember, review! 


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Here is the first chapter. From now onward, the story would be told in Hermione's PoV (in third person limited). This is when the story really takes off, and the prologue was merely a taste of what was to come. So enjoy:

Acknowledgements:

**Emily** (again, my talented beta)

And my reviewers: **...cheese...** (hi Mary), **Song Muse, Counter Spark, ZephrWiltshire, Serena Tasneem**

Remember to review!

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**Chapter 1**

Hermione Granger yawned widely, eying the piles of paperwork before her helplessly. A large stack of files also sat on her desk, all containing profiles of suspected Death Eaters that the Ministry had not yet acquired enough physical evidence to convict. As she flipped through Theodore Nott's file, she knew that he was undoubtedly a Death Eater, but all evidence against him was circumstantial. They could not put him before the Wizengamot and expect to win the case.

A long, wistful sigh escaped her lips. These past two weeks had been terrible. Not a single real Death Eater arrest had been made and the public were already getting increasingly agitated, accusing the Ministry of inefficiency. Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour was being bombarded with Howlers lately, and he was always in such a foul mood, and who better to take it out on than the Aurors? Even his scapegoat arrests no longer worked, for they were getting more and more ridiculous by the day. The result was the Aurors, like Hermione, were forced to work with hardly a break at least twelve hours a day, and often into the early hours of the next morning. Hermione had heavy purple bags under her eyes from many sleepless nights as she poured over those piles upon piles of files of potential Death Eaters to prove this statement.

A clock somewhere chimed twelve times. It was midnight already, and she was still nowhere near finished. Many of her Auror colleagues had half-jokingly said that they saw so much of the office that they forgot what home looked like. To Hermione, she could barely classify that as an exaggeration. She stifled an oncoming rib-shattering yawn as she scribbled down notes from a previous interview with Nott. Every failure of the Ministry was being pinned over the Aurors' heads, and yet, they were still not getting anywhere. There were so many cold cases in the Ministry's storage rooms that she didn't even know where to begin. She ran her fingers through her rebellious hair, and picked up her mug of coffee, hoping it would stop her eyelids from drooping so much.

Suddenly, Harry Potter burst through the door of her private office, almost making Hermione spray her mouthful of coffee all over her precious paperwork. However, in her attempt to keep her coffee in her mouth, she did choke, her face turning bright red as she coughed. Harry did not even seem to notice since he was panting, and his face was flushed, but he was undeniably pleased over something. His brilliant green eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he flashed her a wide grin.

"I've got great news!" he said excitedly.

Hermione wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, throwing Harry a sharp, reproachful glare. "You could have knocked you know," she said, her tone very much disapproving. After all, he did make her choke.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, the grin never leaving his face, "but I've _just_ dug up some hard evidence on Draco Malfoy's guilt."

This almost made her choke again, but she caught herself just in time. "H—How…? …What?" she stuttered, disbelieving. All disapproval of Harry vanished at once. "Did you tell Ron? He's your partner."

"No I haven't yet," he said. "You were the only one still here so I thought I ought to share with you first. I mean, this _is_ your job. We just track those Death Eaters down. You're the one who actually make them stand trial and prosecute them."

"Yes, but Ron isn't here?" A hint of disapproval dropped into her voice again.

"No," said Harry. "He went home about an hour ago, muttering something about 'should have taken their offer at Puddlemere United'."

Hermione smiled, not at all surprised by Ron's behavior. He had been particularly vocal about his disapproval of Scrimgeour and his treatment of Aurors, especially having been one himself.

"So what is it?" asked Hermione, excitement evident in her voice. "What did you find?"

Grinning, Harry slapped down a photograph onto her desk and leaned back, satisfied with his work. Hermione picked it up, her eyebrows knit closely. In the picture was a horde of ghastly corpses, surrounded by figures in black, hooded cloaks.

"Inferi," she murmured. A chilling tingle ran down her spine. She had never been particularly fond of this branch of magic.

Harry nodded as she returned to the picture, but she could not find anything that could possibly incriminate the prestigious Malfoy.

"But you can't prove Malfoy was here," she noted.

"As a matter of fact, you can," stated Harry enthusiastically. He withdrew his wand from his back pocket, and tapped at the picture, muttering, "_Engorgio_."

The picture expanded and stretched until even the tiniest detail became visible. _That's incredible resolution_, Hermione thought. Harry pointed at one of the Death Eaters' hand, and Hermione's jaw promptly dropped. _No way_. She closed her mouth quickly, as she looked up at Harry, whose expression was smug.

"The ring?" she asked, incredulous. "Is that the Malfoy crest?"

"Yes," he replied.

Hermione looked at the ring again. A snake coiled around a large letter M over the words "_Sang Pur_". Lucius Malfoy must have passed it on to his son right before his death. Hermione was _almost _convinced. _Almost_.

"How can you be sure it's him?" she asked.

"It has to be," answered Harry, a little annoyed. "It's the _Malfoy_ crest. How many times have we seen that crest? It's got to be him."

"But how do you know that he isn't being framed?" she asked.

"He can't be," answered Harry. "You can't get something like that off of someone like Malfoy. It's got to be bewitched in a million different ways. And look at the color of the skin. He's the only one I know who's _that_ pale."

Hermione still wasn't too convinced. "All right," she said, "how do you know that this picture isn't a mere fabrication? They even have software in the Muggle world for things like that."

"I've done tests on them," he said, fully annoyed now. "Why are you asking all these questions? Aren't you happy that I got it?"

"I am, Harry," she said, calmly. "But wouldn't you rather _I_ ask the questions _now_ than wait for the defendant to during the trial? How would that make us look?"

Harry was silent, knowing that she had a point there.

"So where did you get this?" asked Hermione.

"It was sent to me by owl." He shrugged.

"Do you know from who?" asked Hermione. But before he could answer, another chilling thought occurred to her. "Who took the picture?"

Harry shrugged. "Could be any of our Aurors," he said, looking bored and unconcerned. "We have spies all over the place. It could be any one of them."

"Well, Harry," said Hermione skeptically. "I suggest you do a thorough investigation. I have to have this information for our case to stand."

"Fine, I will," replied Harry, deeply irritated. "If this photograph doesn't manage to convince you, how about if I tell you we've actually got a _witness_?"

Hermione's jaw dropped again, but this time, she didn't close it, not having realized her mouth was open in the first place. "Who is it?" she asked.

"A Muggle-born who survived," he said. "She's currently steadily recovering from her injuries in St. Mungo's."

"That's great," exclaimed Hermione. "I will go and talk to her as soon as possible. And now, we must make an arrest; hopefully, we can keep him in our custody as we try to obtain a search warrant."

"I'll notify Kingsley and Scrimgeour, and I'll go get the team," he said, and was off to his office.

Hermione watched her best friend leave excitedly, but she found herself unable to share the same enthusiasm. There was definitely something fishy going on, but she felt powerless. There was nothing she could do. She would have to wait until she interrogates the witness Harry had procured. Even though she trusted Harry with her life, she was still absolutely certain that there was something that he overlooked, which may result in the loss of the entire case, and worse. She would have to be the one to make sure that it wouldn't happen.

Not long after, Harry had arrived with a grumpy-looking Ron, followed by two other Aurors, Richard Johnston, and Cecilia Costa. Johnston was several years their senior, but he was burly and strong. His beefy moustache and piercing hazel eyes were intimidating to say the least, and he was very useful when physical violence arose during an arrest. Costa, on the other hand, was a thin, rather petite woman who had a sweet, soothing voice which was probably why she was also a member of the brand new Redemption Squad, which focused on convincing captured Death Eaters to change sides in the war.

"Hermione, you're coming, right?" asked Harry.

"Sure," she answered. "Maybe some fresh air will help me look at the Nott case at a new angle."

Harry nodded. Hermione grabbed the cloak that had been draped over the back of her chair and followed the team out toward the elevators. They were finally going to make an arrest after two weeks of deep gloom and inactivity. She couldn't help but feel a certain tinge of excitement. Since it was so late, they were bound to catch Malfoy off-guard. After all, he was dangerous. He was suspected to be one of the highest-ranking Death Eaters in Voldemort's inner circle. If they caught him, maybe they would be able to force some information out of him, tipping the war to their advantage. Therefore, her whole career, and possibly even the Ministry's future, depended on this arrest.

They came to a stop near the rebuilt fountain outside the Ministry. Hermione remembered that it was Harry, Dumbledore, and Voldemort who had destroyed the original fountain in their fifth year.

Harry pulled out a sheet of parchment from the inside pocket of his cloak.

"These are the coordinates of what we believe is a safe Apparition point," he said, dabbing a point on the map with his wand. "It's at the outskirts of a Muggle village, and a little more than half a mile from the gates of Malfoy Manor. We're going to have to walk the rest of the way."

Ron distinctively groaned, but everyone ignored him.

"There will be plenty of wards at the gates," continued Harry. "But there's good news. Ron and I have done excessive research, and we found all the spells for all these wards." He looked at Costa. "Because you are a Curse-breaker, you will perform the necessary charms to disable them."

He withdrew another sheet of parchment, and this time, handed it to Costa. Hermione caught a glimpse of it and knew that Harry had written down all the charms and hexes on the gates. Many were made using the Dark Arts.

"Remember," he said, pointing at the map again. "Here."

So all five members of their team held out their wand and prepared for Apparition. With several loud _cracks_, all five disappeared into thin air, only to reappear in a completely foreign place. A chilly autumn breeze caused Hermione to hug her cloak tighter against her, looking around her and taking in every detail of her surroundings. It was deathly quiet. Nothing stirred except for the occasional tree limbs and the rustle of leaves. Small, old houses lined up neatly all the way down the street for each of the streets. Somehow, she doubted there was much bustling about even in plain daylight. Everything was so ordinary; it was strange to think that people so evil could possibly live here. She could see a small, thinning forest surrounding the village, and not too far off was a huge building on a gentle slope overlooking these small, insignificant rows of houses. Its gray stone walls and old elegance held an unusual beauty that Hermione couldn't quite describe. But there was no doubt in her mind that this was Malfoy Manor. The place looked like it was made for royalty.

Hermione snapped out of her trance, seeing her companions were already heading toward a path through the clumps of trees, which would inevitably lead to the huge mansion towering above.

"This is like going back to the feudal ages," remarked Hermione to no one in particular.

"That pompous git treats everyone like serfs anyway," said Ron, shrugging casually, appearing as though he was faking disinterest.

Hermione didn't know whether she was imagining it or not, but she thought she spotted red tinges on Ron's cheeks as he looked on at Malfoy Manor. Was it envy?

The five Aurors made their way across the forest quite uneventfully with Harry reminding everyone to be quiet and careful every two minutes. Hermione knew that Harry had felt responsible over the deaths of several of those he cared a lot about, such as Sirius and Dumbledore. She knew that he would not be able to endure any more strain if more of his friends died even if it was because he had indirectly made a slight mistake.

Diverting her gaze back toward the mansion ahead, she couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like if she was to live here. Not long later, they had arrived outside the gates. She watched with great interest as Costa pulled out her wand and muttered words in an ancient and foreign language. Small, indiscernible sparks erupted from the tip of her wand as she continued muttering. Even though Ron had lost interest in Costa's awesome Curse-breaking skills a long time ago due to routine, Hermione was still captivated. She had read books about Curse-breaking, but there had never been a chance for her to try out the spells she had learned. Soon, Costa stepped back, and gave Harry a nod. The latter reached for the latch, and warily, pulled it off its hook. Nothing happened. Harry let out a sigh of relief as he pushed the gates open and was the first to step unto Malfoy land. The others soon followed suit, their wands drawn, their steps cautious, and their senses sharpened.

"Are there any more wards on the doors?" whispered Hermione, stopping short of the golden door handle. It seemed to be shaped oddly like a twisted snake, but since it was so dark, she could neither confirm nor reject her observation.

Harry nodded just before Costa stepped forward. It took less time to disable these wards since they appeared to be simpler. The door was unlocked with an effortless "_alohamora_". When all five Aurors entered the Hall, everything was plunged into even deeper darkness and utter silence. However, when they moved, the soles of their shoes made clanking sounds on the polished marble floor that echoed eerily off the walls. But they were off again after a quick "_silencio_" was cast on their feet.

"_Lumos_," whispered Harry as they made their ascent on the grand staircase toward the upper-level.

_Carpet_, remarked Hermione to herself, as she felt a cushiony softness beneath her feet, the only indication that they were no longer stepping on marble. It was twelve fifty, according to the antique grandfather clock on top of the staircase when Harry's lit wand shined on it. It was so late, yet the adrenaline in her veins did more than all the coffee she had consumed today could do. She felt wide awake. The excitement and suspense was almost tangible in the cold air of the Manor, but the twists and turns were making Hermione dizzy. She could never find her way back if her companions weren't with her. Then, Harry made an abrupt stop in front of two large mahogany doors. His hand was already on the handle when he turned around to remind them to be silent. He opened the door slowly, thankful that there were no creaks. Even in the darkness, Hermione could tell that the room was incredibly large and beautifully decorated. No sound was being emitted except for the deep breathing that bordered on snoring. Draco Malfoy was asleep.

The Aurors filed in. Hermione didn't even realize that she was holding her breath until her lungs began screaming for oxygen.

"What do we do?" asked Hermione. "Do we wake him?"

"No," replied Harry. "He's dangerous. Better take advantage of him while he's vulnerable. _Muffliato_."

The spell hit Malfoy directly in the face, but he did not stir. Only a snort was released from him.

"Ready?" asked Harry, looking back at his team. "_Mobiliocorpus_."

"Should have used '_Levicorpus_'," said Ron, stifling a snicker from an entertaining mental image. Harry couldn't help but smile also.

Nevertheless, Malfoy floated off the bed and hung limply in midair, still sound asleep. The covers slid off of him, revealing his plain, black silk pajamas. He floated nonchalantly toward Harry, until they were merely a foot away from each other.

"Do you have the portkey ready?" asked Harry.

Ron withdrew a battered old glove. Malfoy's clock read twelve fifty-nine.

"In a minute," said Ron.

"Good," said Harry. "I think you and Johnston should go with Malfoy. Bring him to one of the free detention rooms. Make sure that you confiscate his wand. Good luck."

When the clock turned one, Ron, Johnston, and Malfoy vanished awkwardly, back toward the Ministry.

"Let's go back," said Harry.

After the remaining three Aurors left the Malfoy grounds, they set up a large field to ward off unwanted lurkers and Muggles. When Harry, Hermione, and Costa arrived back at the Ministry, Ron was just locking the door of the temporary jail in which Malfoy was kept in.

"Can you believe the bastard's still asleep?" asked Ron when he saw them approaching.

"Deep sleeper, eh?" said Harry, shaking his head. "Who would have known?"

"What do you suggest we do now?" asked Johnston, keeping a wary eye on the closed door, as if expecting it to explode at any second.

"That is the Director's decision," he replied. "I will Floo Shacklebolt since he told me to inform him of new developments as soon as possible. Interrogation is no doubt impractical now. We'll put that off until tomorrow, at least… or technically, several hours from now." It was already past one o'clock in the morning.

When Hermione reentered her office, she decided that it was time to leave because she was sure that whatever they had to do could wait until tomorrow. Back at her flat, she soon collapsed on her bed, completely exhausted, but ready for a good night's sleep. However, nothing could prepare her for what was to come the following morning.

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**A/N**: Feedback would be greatly appreciated! Constructive criticisms are welcomed.

Next time on BLSD: What has happened to Draco Malfoy, and why is Hermione put in such an uncompromising position? Find out!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Here is the second chapter. Thanks to all my reviewers, and without further ado:

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**Chapter 2**

The morning was light and cheery, and the sun shined brightly overhead. It was just past nine o'clock, and the Ministry of Magic was bustling with activity as employees continuously Apparated, memos flew in the air, elevators ran nonstop, and the large crowd of Ministry officials engaged themselves in loud conversations. The Second Great War was raging outside the presumed safety of the building, but to most employees, this day was exactly like any other. Hermione, especially, as she hurried across the Atrium to the elevators, did not suspect in the least that today's events could potentially change her life, whether for better or for worse. She smiled and greeted her colleagues, trying to find her way toward her office through the labyrinth of people, which proved to be a rather difficult task to accomplish.

"Hermione!" a voice shouted near her.

She spun around, looking for the source of this call, her eyes meeting with none other than Harry's. He pushed through a few people, trying desperately to get to her while earning quite a lot of glares.

When he finally caught up with her, she did not even have an opportunity to say anything at all before he said, "You have to come with me."

"Where are we going?" she asked, letting Harry lead her back toward the direction she had come from.

"Detention rooms," he answered shortly.

It had to have something to do with Malfoy, she reasoned, but she could not even begin to fathom what it could be about. Had he escaped? This thought was immediately dismissed as implausible, or Harry would have told her right off the bat instead of leading her to the cells where she could see whatever it was with her own eyes. The two made their way to the much quieter and less crowded detention areas, and Hermione trailed behind Harry, wondering what was happening. They came to a stop in front of Malfoy's door, where screams and yells could be heard even through the thick, metal door. _What in the world…?_

When Harry pulled the door open, Hermione could do nothing but stare in shock. Malfoy was screaming in rage and anguish, fighting against the two frustrated Aurors who were trying to pin him down and tie him up. What happened here? What could cause the Death Eater to lash out so recklessly and so violently? He was Malfoy, and he had always kept a cool and collected exterior when interacting with the enemy.

"What happened?" asked Hermione as the two Aurors forced some light blue potion down Malfoy's throat.

"We just found out—and apparently he did too—that he's… incapacitated," replied Harry, whose eyes never left their prisoner.

Her eyebrows knit together. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Her friend finally turned to meet her searching eyes. His face was emotionless. "He's blind, Hermione," he said softly.

"Well, isn't this a good thing?" she asked, confused. There was pity in her heart that contradicted her words as she set her eyes on Malfoy again.

"Do you think so?" he asked, as he gestured at the three struggling men.

"When he calms down, we can—" she started, but was interrupted.

"That's what I thought, too, at first," he said. "But I don't think he's going to tell us anything in this state."

"Does he even know where he is?" she asked.

"We refrained from telling him this piece of information."

A plan started to forge itself in Hermione's mind. Malfoy was blinded, he didn't know where he was, and he might be a high-ranking Death Eater. They could definitely take advantage of this.

"Let's make a deal with him," she suggested.

Harry looked incredulous. "With _him_?" he asked. "He's a great negotiator, haven't you heard?"

"Well…" A smile formed at Hermione's lips. "We just have to make him a deal he can't refuse."

He was silent, urging her to continue.

"Let's offer him a cure for his blindness in exchange for the information," she said. "Of course, he would never tell us anything, so we'll just… _coax_ it out of him."

Harry's serious and solemn face brightened slightly at these words.

"Why hadn't I thought of that?" he asked, smiling at Hermione. "That's a great idea! But what _should_ we disclose about the location? Any suggestions?"

With a shrug of her shoulders, she said, "You're the Deputy Director. You decide what would be best. All I can think of is saying that he's at St. Mungo's."

"That could work," he said pensively. "I'll discuss it with Kingsley. In the meanwhile, you can wait until I come back."

"What should I do?" she asked uncertainly as Malfoy still struggled against his guards, though his attempts and strength were much weaker. The Relaxation Potion seemed to be slowly taking effect.

"You can go to your office or keep watch on him with O'Donnell and Johnston."

Hermione chose the former, and while she resumed working on the Nott case, she found it difficult to concentrate, for her thoughts continued to drift toward Malfoy. They had spent seven years at Hogwarts, and they hadn't been on the best of terms even after they had graduated. In her four years out of Hogwarts, she had very few encounters with him, and she had been grateful. But now, he was confined feet away from her office, and she found this knowledge very disconcerting. There was no wish on her part to work with him, even though during the last year of their Hogwarts education, he had become slightly tolerable, but she still felt nothing but contempt when his name is mentioned. After sixth year, Harry, Ron, and Hermione thought that Malfoy could be brought to the right side of the war, but they had been wrong. He had continued his Death Eater activities, and whatever pity and hope she had felt at the time vanished at once. And now, she was again met with a very similar dilemma. She felt pity for his blindness, but at the same time, she despised everything about him, from his bleached blond hair to his usually impeccable dragon-hide boots to his behavior and his very being. She did not want to have anything to do with him, but luck was not on her side that day.

"Hermione." It was Harry again.

"Yes?"

"I talked to Kingsley, and he approves," he said. "But here's what's happened. He insists on you talking to him."

Disgust would be an understatement when describing the look that instantly crossed her face. "_What_?"

"It's Kingsley's decision, and I have to respect that." Harry sighed. "He's my supervisor, he's more experienced, and… I know how much you dislike Malfoy, just like the rest of us, but just do it, okay? For us and for our side's victory?"

"But why _me_?" she asked. She knew that she was cornered, yet she tried desperately to find her way out of this situation. "Costa is part of the Redemption Squad, not me."

"Yes, we're all aware of this," was Harry's weak attempt at consolation. It seemed as though he did not like the idea any more than she did. "There's nothing I can do. Try it, and if it's really terrible, we'll take you out of there immediately."

"You still haven't answered my question," she said curtly. "Why me?"

He shrugged. "I suppose that it's because you're a very valuable prosecutor who managed to put many Death Eaters into Azkaban. It's more likely that you would be able to find out things from him, whether through manipulation or otherwise. Besides, Costa's in the _Redemption_ Squad. I doubt Malfoy's anywhere near redemption any time soon. We're not trying to redeem him anyway. Just get information from him."

"How do you suppose I'd be able to do _that_?" She was still incredulous and skeptical.

Again, he shrugged. "That's up to you," he said simply, and left her office, leaving her absolutely dumbfounded.

The overwhelming smell of potions and alcohol filled St. Mungo's, and Hermione couldn't help but grimace. These times of war rendered the magical hospital much busier than usual, and she felt lucky not to have chosen to be a Healer after careful and serious consideration at Hogwarts. Just having to smell the potions and chemicals would be bad enough, but having to face death in those entrusted into her care everyday could be even worse. As she made her way to the bored blonde witch behind the counter with the latest copy _Witch Weekly_, she couldn't help but look around her. Some of the patients grew extra body parts, some looked in a great amount of pain, and even some behaved very oddly, such as the wizened witch clucking around like a chicken and the wizard who scratched himself nonstop with the heel of his shoe. She could hear the frantic cries of the Healers as they pushed the beds of the patients in critical condition through the halls. When she looked back at the witch behind the counter, she wondered how the woman could look so indifferent whereas the patients around her were already making Hermione's head spin.

"Good morning," said Hermione in an authoritative voice, showing the woman her badge. The blonde briefly slowed down her gum-chewing and looked up from the top of her magazine as she inspected the badge lazily. "Agent Hermione Granger, Auror Office, Ministry of Magic," she continued, replacing her badge in her pocket. "I'm here to see Melanie Perkins."

Sighing irritably, the witch dragged her perfectly manicured finger down a long list of names.

"Fourth floor, room 402," she said simply before her eyes fell on the glossy pages of her magazine again.

"Thank you," muttered Hermione, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. When she left the counter, she noticed that only then had people started to form a short queue, and right before she turned the corner toward the stairs, she saw the blonde witch throw down her magazine frustratingly to address the newly arrived patients.

A short and plump Healer with a cart of flowers was just exiting room 402 when Hermione arrived. The Healer held the door open for her with a warm smile, and with a "thank you", Hermione slipped in.

The only two occupants of the ward were an unconscious man and a dark-haired girl stroking a flower absentmindedly. Hermione approached the girl and made introductions, but Melanie didn't even look at her once.

"Melanie?" she asked softly.

The girl continued to stroke the petals of a violet. Her eyes shone brightly under the light. Was she crying? Not even a sniffle or a sob could be heard…

"My mother's favorite flowers were violets," said Melanie abruptly. "Isn't it pretty?" She held out the violet to Hermione. It was wilted and brown at the edges. Most of its petals had fallen off, and the remainder was wrinkled.

"Er… yes, it is very pretty," answered Hermione hesitantly, but the awkwardness went unnoticed by the young girl.

"My mother used to think so too," she said, her eyes dazed as if she were in a far-off land. "We had a small garden full of them in the backyard of my house, and my mother and I used to plant them and take care of them together. We always ended up with a lot of dirt and mud on our faces and clothes." She laughed a short, mirthless laugh. "The witch who just came and brought the flowers didn't have many violets. Just this one." Her fingers stroked the remaining petals gently as if they would shatter if she touched them too hard.

"Melanie…" began Hermione as soothingly as possible, but the young girl's eyes gushed with tears. "It's all right."

She picked up the girl, hugging her closely and tightly.

"No, it's _not_ all right," sobbed Melanie. "Do you know how she died? She was stabbed and _thrown in her own little garden of violets_… And Daddy… He tried to help her, but he was hit by the_ Killing Curse_. And do you know what _they_ did? They _laughed_ and _laughed and LAUGHED_."

Her sobs were increasing in volume.

"_And do you have any idea what they did to me_?" she hissed angrily. "Corpses… everywhere… Their cursers… They were so painful… I could feel my insides _tearing_. I screamed, and they _laughed_. They called me a worthless little Mudblood… And then… And, and then…They… they _tore_ my clothes, my brand new clothes… for school… it was going to be my last year there… and…" She was unable to continue, her whole body wracking in sobs.

Cringing inwardly and compassion filling every ounce of her being, Hermione tightened her hold on Melanie, whispering "Shh" soothingly in her ear. She rubbed her back in calming circles, repeating "it's okay" over and over again, when Hermione knew that it wasn't okay, and it could never be okay.

When Melanie's sobs quieted down, she asked softly, "What do you need? Miss…"

"Granger, but call me Hermione," she answered hastily relinquishing her vice-like grip on the girl. "Melanie, I understand how you feel and I am wholeheartedly sorry for what you were forced to go through. Oh Merlin, I am _so_ sorry. I'm here to help you, but I will need your help as well to bring these… people… to justice for what they did to you."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"We need you as our witness," answered Hermione. "I know how hard it is to relive it again, but we need you to testify before the Wizengamot."

Melanie's eyes closed and she turned away, shaking her head.

"Please, we need your help," said Hermione.

She continued to shake her head vigorously.

"Melanie, look at me," demanded Hermione firmly. Slowly, hesitantly, blue eyes met compassionate brown ones. "Do you want to see your captors in Azkaban? Do you want justice to be done to them?" Slowly, Melanie nodded, but their brief eye contact was broken again, for she turned away. "Then you must help us."

"I don't know…" muttered Melanie so softly that Hermione wondered if she had actually said it.

"Well, either way, I'll give you time to think and make your decision," she said, standing up. "I am sincerely sorry. I really am. Remember, we're here to help you. I want your captors in Azkaban as much as you do, but in order to make this happen, we'll have to have your help. Think about it and Floo me once you make your decision. You know where to find me."

When she was already by the door, she turned back and said, "Oh and Melanie?" The young girl looked at her with such sad eyes that Hermione felt her own tears start to form. "Please… do take care of yourself."

The younger girl nodded, and Hermione lingered by the doorframe just a little longer before walking out into the hall, closing the door behind her as she wiped the moisture from her eyes.

The bright green eyes widened behind two perfectly round lenses. Hermione had just finished telling him of her endeavor in persuading the Muggle-born Melanie Perkins to testify.

"So is she going to do it?" asked Harry.

"Honestly, I don't know," said Hermione with a sigh.

"Let's hope so," said Harry in resignation. "In the meanwhile, we have another task for you."

Harry stood up, and groaning inwardly, Hermione followed his lead to the detention rooms. When the guards opened the heavy doors to the cell, revealing the reclining form of Draco Malfoy, she took a deep breath and stepped inside.

* * *

**A/N:** Please review!

Next time on BLSD: The fateful interview! Remember that Draco is blind and he has no idea where he is and what is going on. Don't miss it!


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